Your Captain Will Call You
by Bottlebrush
Summary: My version of Lie Low At Lupin's. Sequel to Broken Journey. SBRL slash. Sirius's pov.


Your Captain Will Call You

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter world or its characters. J. K. Rowling does.

Summary: My version of "Lie low at Lupin's". Sequel to "Broken Journey". SBRL slash. Sirius's pov.

Rating T

_Tomorrow is Sunday; Monday is the day_

_Your captain will call you, and you must obey._

"_The Cruel War" ( Anon.)_

I waited until nearly midnight before Apparating from the forest where I had left Buckbeak, to Remus's hut, so that there would be no Muggle around to see me suddenly appear at his door. I had already done the rounds of the Order members, leaving Remus till last, in the hope of being able, as Dumbledore had said, to lie low there for a while.

He opened the door at my knock, and I was not surprised to see him still awake.

"I've been expecting you," he said with a smile. "Dumbledore owled me."

I heaved my backpack on to the table; it contained large quantities of food, most of it supplied by Molly Weasley. "Then you've heard the news?" I asked. "About Voldemort?"

"Yes. He used Harry to help him come back. How is Harry now?"

"He had a rough time, but he's come through it. He's brave and strong, just like James."

"And did you see any of the others – Hermione, Neville ……?"

"They're all right too. And I'll be happy to give you a report on the entire Hogwarts establishment, down to and including Mrs Norris, _tomorrow_, but for now - Moony, I've been waiting such a _bloody_ long time, don't make me wait any longer."

What was I saying? Was that any way to talk to him, after his kindness and patience on my last visit, when I had been haunted by my years with the Dementors? I hadn't even told him I loved him. But he smiled, and I could swear that the room, lit by one candle, was suddenly filled with brightness. He came up to me, put his arms around me and kissed me.

The long cold years melted away at that kiss; another memory. That was how it was, how he kissed, gentle, his mouth closed. When I kissed him, it was with desire and intensity, and he responded in like manner, his lips parting, his tongue answering mine; but when he initiated the kiss, it was always in this child-like way. I loved that; it was so sweet, as if every kiss was the first. How could I have forgotten? Only too easily; another thing the Dementors had stolen from me. But now I had it back. How strange that he had not changed in all those years.

"I remember now," I said. "The first time we kissed. And you were trembling a little, just as you are now……"

"And you thought I was afraid of you. How naïve can you be?"

"Naïve? Me?" I said indignantly.

He smiled. "Well, it did surprise me that one with your alleged experience did not recognise passion when he saw it."

"Oh…….Moony." I couldn't think of anything to say.

In that small room, a few steps brought us to his bed. Lying there, I felt at a loss; what should I do now, what did I want, what did he expect? So much time had gone, so much had been stolen from us, it was like lying with a stranger.

"What do I do now?" I murmured, more to myself than to him.

"Just let go and do what you want," he whispered. "Anything. I'm here for whatever you want. There is nothing that isn't allowed. Just do it."

He moved a hand slowly down my back, and he was not a stranger, he was my dear Moony and I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to make him happy.

I woke with the sun pouring in through the hut's one small window. I was warm and dozy, my body heavy with the memory of pleasure. By my side the giver of pleasure, the source of joy, was sleeping, his face looking younger than I had seen it last year, as if the night had revived and fortified him. I wanted to kiss him, but I wanted not to wake him as he slept so peacefully, and so I remained in a happy balance of indecision, until he resolved it by opening his eyes.

His eyes …… wide and full of wonder as he looked at me. Hesitantly, he said "Sirius? You……we……oh. Sirius."

"I know," I said, and I did. I understood him.

He responded briefly to my kiss, then pushed me gently away and slid out of bed.

"Have to go outside," he explained. "Don't go away."

"Outside" referred, I remembered, to the hut's primitive toilet facilities in the lean-to at the back, of which I availed myself in my turn. When I came in again, he was standing at the table, looking into the bag of food I had left there.

"Should I make us some breakfast?" he asked. "Or……"

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Um …… maybe not right now. Maybe …… we should go back to bed for a while."

"Maybe we should," I said, smiling.

He looked at me earnestly. "Last night was amazing," he said. "I'd forgotten how wonderful it was. You know …… sex."

"It's been a long time," I said.

"About fourteen years."

"For me, yes."

"And me."

"But you were _free_, you could ……"

He looked at me, and began laughing. "Pads, you utter wally," he exclaimed. "Did you really imagine I could have had sex with someone else?"

"Well, it _was_ a long time. And you're still young, and …… and you did like it so much."

"I liked it with _you_, you pillock. You're impossible to follow, didn't you know that? It wasn't any sort of resolution, nothing like that. I wasn't interested, that's all. If I couldn't have you, I didn't want anyone. So I decided to be totally selfish and do what _I_ wanted."

I felt overwhelmed, awestruck; I felt like kneeling down and kissing his feet. So I did.

"What are you _doing?_" he squealed, pulling his foot away.

"Acting on impulse," I said, grinning.

"Well, don't," he said. "It tickles."

"Tickles? I'll give you tickles!" I pushed him down on to the bed – oh, the memories – and tickled him mercilessly. He'd always been ticklish; it came back to me, the wriggling, giggling mass of reflexes he became when tickled just the right amount in just the right places. He totally helpless, I in control. These sessions, I recalled, always ended in the same way, and this one was no exception.

Some time later, as we lay utterly spent and content, I said "Hasn't Farmer Maggot got some pig pen or other that you should be fixing right now?"

He grinned. "I don't work for Mr Mattock any more," he told me. "He said he guessed I would be leaving soon, and he's got the Stewarts in to help with the harvest."

"Stewarts?"

"They're a family of travelling people, a man and his two sons, and their wives and children. They move around the country, doing odd jobs; farm labouring, mending things. Some of them are on this farm now, and the rest are with the neighbours. They've got their caravans, so Mr Mattock said I can stay in this hut until I'm ready to leave."

"Big of him," I said, but inwardly I was delighted. This was our holiday. Until Dumbledore called us back to duty, it was our time to be alone together, to get to know each other again, to make up for the lost years. To this end I moved on top of him again – again, _already?_ I marvelled at my own potency – and his arms folded around me, welcoming.

The next few weeks were idyllic. We stayed in the hut most of the time; we went to bed early and got up late, and prepared scrappy meals from the provisions Molly had given me, supplemented by left-overs from the Mattocks' table which the farmer continued to bring us. I went every day to the forest to check on Buckbeak, and most days Remus came with me. Remus knew exactly how to behave with a hippogriff, and he and Buckbeak became good friends.

The rest of the time, when we weren't sleeping or having sex, we talked. There was so much to talk about. I didn't have a lot to say about Azkaban – it was so endlessly _boring_ – but I told him about my years on the run and I tried to make it as light and amusing as I could, but I know he saw through that.

At first he seemed reluctant to speak much about his own life, and thinking that might be because there were things of which he was ashamed, I told him that nothing he could say would make me love or respect him any less. I was wrong, of course; his hesitation was because he didn't want to make me feel worse about my wasted years by talking about the interesting life he had led. I convinced him that I really did want to hear about it.

"Every place you've been," I told him, "every single thing you've done. Tell me stories. I want everything."

So he told me. About Africa, the jungles, the round huts of the villages and the dusty unpaved streets of the small towns; about Iceland, where he lived with goblins and was initiated into their clan, one of only five humans ever to have been so honoured; about Canada, where he taught in the country's newest, largest school of witchcraft and wizardry. Last of all he told me about Durmstrang, which came before these other places in time, but was hardest for him to talk about so he left it till the end.

He showed me the scar on his right arm where he had been branded; he told me how he had been used as training material, his transformations a public spectacle for the other students' instruction. I was shaking with anger before the end of the tale. I paced the room, unable to sit still, wanting to hurt someone in return for what had been done to my Remus.

"Sirius, sit down," he said gently. "It's all right. It's the way they do things at Durmstrang. It was a long time ago, and – as you see – I survived."

"But how _could_ they treat you like that? And Dumbledore – how could he send you there? He must have known what would happen."

"I don't know. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he thought I needed something to take my mind off the Potters, and – and you. Or maybe he just needed somebody to be trained more intensively in the Dark Arts than was possible in Britain, I don't know. There must have been others better qualified than I was for the studies."

_No, _I thought. _There weren't. Dumbledore saw your innocence, the invincible goodness of your soul. I saw it too, once. What went wrong?_

"Dumbledore knew you were one – maybe the only one – he could rely on to study the Dark Arts and not be corrupted," I told him. "What I don't understand is that I knew it too, in my heart I knew it, and yet I thought you might be the spy. How could I have thought that?"

"Perhaps I can help you there," he said. "Those Friday afternoon meetings with Peter in the Leaky Cauldron, in the few weeks before – before that day……"

"You _knew_ about that?"

"Mel told me, too late to do any good. I don't suppose you can remember this, but around that time you complained about cramps and tingling in your wrists and ankles……"

"Yes, I do remember. It was always worse at the weekends."

"It would be. I found out later that's a common side-effect which occurs in about fifty percent of people who take the Kreddulus potion."

"Kreddulus? That's the one that makes you believe everything you're told?"

"Yes. Peter must have been slipping it into your drinks and then feeding you lies about me. He worked as a potion dispenser at St Mungo's so he would have had access to ingredients and facilities for brewing it. What did he tell you? That I'd been seen talking to Death Eaters?"

"Of course. It's all clear now. How could I have been so _stupid_ as to fall for that?"

"You weren't being stupid. Kreddulus is powerful stuff when it's made properly, and Peter was an excellent potion maker. You had no reason to suspect what was going on."

"But I had. I _knew_ you were loyal, I should have held on to that knowledge, I should have fought the potion."

"One can only fight Kreddulus if one knows one has been given it. You didn't."

"And because of that, James and Lily died."

"Not true. They would have died anyway. Suppose you had never suspected me. Would you have made me the secret-keeper? No, because we were known to be close, we were living together, it would have been just the same as being secret-keeper yourself. You would still have given the secret to Peter, and he would have betrayed it, and James and Lily would still be dead. The only difference is that I would have known for sure you were innocent, but I would have had no proof and no one would have listened to me, a werewolf with a personal interest in keeping you out of prison. Nothing would have changed."

I knew he was right, but the fact remained that I had let James down when he needed me most. And yet, what Remus told me did lighten the burden of my guilt, if only a little.

We had only two serious disagreements in those weeks. The first was the day of the full moon. Remus was determined that he would spend the night in his horrible cramped cage, and I was equally determined that he would not.

"You can't expect me to sit here and watch you torture yourself all night," I said.

"You don't have to. You can go to the forest and stay there."

"Only if you come with me. Otherwise I _will_ stay here, and I will not be able to bear it. I will have to release you, and for the seconds between my unlocking the cage and transforming, I will be in danger. Unnecessary danger."

"Yes, quite unnecessary. You have only to do as I tell you and go to the forest."

But I would not be overruled on that. I would stay, and I would release him, and when he saw that I was adamant, he gave in, not without many exhortations about precautions and keeping away from farmhouses and caravans.

"You never used to be so scrupulous," I said teasingly.

"Don't remind me," he muttered darkly. But I knew he was secretly pleased, and as eager for the night's adventure as I was.

It was a wonderful night; dry, warm but with a freshening breeze, and the moon shone brilliantly from a cloudless sky on the wolf and the dog that ran through the forest with all the strength and speed as if the years had not touched them. We chased each other among the trees, and we chased small animals, rabbits and the like, but we did not harm them, not wishing the joy of our freedom to be marred by any creature's pain. We vied with each other in howling at the moon – I have to admit Moony won that contest – and we visited Buckbeak, who was not alarmed at our appearance, seeming to know who we were under the canine disguises.

One last, headlong race through the forest, an explosion of energy and well-being, before the moon set. The wolf nuzzled my neck and licked my ear, then was still, waiting. I too awaited the agonising transformation, and when the time came, I helped my lover to stand, held him in my arms, and Apparated with him back to the hut.

Gently I laid him on his bed and covered him with his cloak. He was still in great pain from the transformation, but there were no wounds for me to wash, no need for the healing ointment he kept on the shelf above the fireplace. He looked at me, his eyes showing the love and thanks he was too weak to express in words, and he slept.

I got busy at the table. He would be hungry when he woke. I prepared a large plate of his favourite peanut butter and banana sandwiches – the bananas the last of a bunch supplied by Molly and kept fresh by a preserving spell – and a pot of camomile tea, the sort he liked best after a transformation.

"You were right," said Remus.

I turned and saw him sitting up, smiling. I brought the food to him and we ate our breakfast sitting on the bed.

"Last night was brilliant," he said. "I didn't think I would ever have that again. Even if it was for the last time, it was so good to run free with you just once more."

"No reason it should be the last time," I said, pouring him another cup of tea. "Maybe not when we're back in London, but after the war's over ……"

"Ah yes. After the war. You know, Pads, you know we might not both survive this war?"

"I know it," I said quietly.

"One of us – or both – could be killed any time."

"Better if it's both of us," I said. "Both or neither."

"Of course. But we won't get the choice. You could be left without me, or I without you. We have to think about that."

"I have thought about it," I told him. That was true. "If you die first, I'll stay strong. For Harry, and the Order, and the cause we're fighting for. I'll be shattered inside, but I'll never give in. And I expect the same of you."

"You have it. Although a part of me would die with you, the rest would keep going as long as need be. And – I surely don't need to tell you this – whatever happens to me, whatever I may be forced to do, in everything that matters I will be faithful to you."

"Here's where I'm supposed to tell you I want you to be happy, I want you to 'move on' and find someone else to love. But I won't. Instead I'm going to imagine I've swallowed a pint of Veritaserum, and tell you the honest truth. The thought of you with someone else is like a death curse to me."

There was just the hint of Marauderish mischief in his smile when he answered "Good. Then we are of the same mind. Not that I'd want you to be lonely and sad. I'd wish you good friends, laughter and happy times. But saving that one thing for me. Because even if the new life is something unimaginably different, so long as _anything_ of me survives, one shred of – soul, or spirit, or what you like to call it – anything still identifiably Remus Lupin that lives on after my body dies, that something will love you and stand by you always."

"And I by you."

"That's settled, then. Are you going to eat that last sandwich?"

"No, that one's yours. You've reminded me of something I've got to do."

I went to my backpack and took out the enchanted parchment I had obtained from Gringotts, who do not care if a wizard is on the run from the Aurors, so long as he has funds in his vault.

"It's a will form," I told Remus. "It's been charmed so that only I can write on it, so it doesn't need a witness, and when I've finished it, it will teleport itself back to Gringotts. I thought, as life has become so precarious, I should make provisions. Now, I think the simplest thing is to divide everything right down the middle, half to you, half to Harry."

"No, the simplest thing is for you to leave all to Harry."

"You're not going all proud and independent, are you, Moony? I thought we sorted all that nonsense out years ago."

"Yes, we did, when we lived together and we shared everything: our money, our possessions, our bodies. It never bothered me that nearly all the money was yours, because I knew that it didn't bother _you_. It was only money, what did it matter where it came from? But after you were gone – you know I had a key to your vault, but I never took anything from it. Even the times I was knutless and starving. Because I couldn't bear to have your money when I couldn't have you. And it would be the same if you died. You won't put me through that, will you, Pads? It would hurt too much."

"Just see it as me still looking after you from the other side."

"I can't. It would be a constant reminder of loss, aggravating the pain. I'm not being proud. I suppose I'm being weak. But please believe me, and go along with me on this. We agreed long ago that we would give way on anything that really mattered to the other. This really matters to me."

"It matters to me too, not to leave you – what did you call it, 'knutless and starving'?"

"I won't be. That was when I was young and inexperienced. I can look after myself now. Please, love. Try to understand. We'll share all we have as long as we're together, but if we're separated, I'm on my own. If I had your money, it would be like – like mocking me, mocking my grief, don't you see?"

I didn't see, not really, but I saw the earnest look on his face and I knew this was something important, it was one of the times I had to give in to him. I wrote my will, leaving everything to Harry. It was only a gesture, I knew. If I had all the money in the world and gave it to Harry, it would still never compensate for what I had done to him, depriving him of his parents and condemning him to ten years with the Dursleys. But it was all I could do.

The parchment vanished, making its own way to Gringotts, and that was the end of the second, and last, argument between Remus and me.

The rest of our time passed peacefully and happily. I met Mattock, the Muggle, once when I opened the door and found him there bringing a gift of eggs from Mrs Mattock's hens.

"Hi there, Lenoir," he said, handing me the box of eggs. "I reckon I got you sussed. MI5, ain't yer?"

I was astonished that he remembered my assumed name after a year, but the rest of his speech made no sense whatever. So I smiled vaguely and said nothing.

"Don't worry, I'm a tomb," he said.

"You're a tomb?" I repeated stupidly.

He tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. "Thass right. Secrets buried deep. Safe with me." And he left.

When Remus managed to stop laughing he told me what MI5 was. "That explains the continuing food supplies," he said. "He's doing his bit for his country. Just as well you haven't met the Stewarts, they'd probably think you were an extraterrestrial."

"A what?"

"An alien from another world."

I supposed, in a way, I was. The Muggle world was certainly different from what I was accustomed to.

"I think Mattock's going to demolish this place when we've gone," Remus said, and I could hear a touch of regret in his voice, regret at the loss of the home that had been the scene of so much happiness and pleasure in the past weeks. But we both knew we couldn't stay like lotus-eaters in this sanctuary for ever. We were soldiers on leave, soon to be recalled to duty.

When we went that afternoon to the forest, Buckbeak was pleased to see us, but he seemed restless. I sensed that he would welcome a change of scene. "Not long now, Beaky," I told him.

We decided to Apparate to the edge of the wood and walk the rest of the way back. We both felt we wanted to prolong the day; it was sunny and still, warm but not too warm, just right for two lovers to walk slowly homeward together, talking of old times.

The sun had set by the time we reached the hut, and Remus went in to prepare supper. I lingered outside, reluctant to let go of the day. When a minute speck appeared in the northern sky, I knew what it was. Before I could even see that it was an owl, I knew what its message would be. In silence I entered the hut and handed the parchment to Remus. He read it, his face calm.

"We knew it would be soon," I said.

He nodded. "We still have tomorrow."

We sat at the table and ate our supper, gathering our strength to face whatever was coming. Our time out was at an end.


End file.
